


Feels Like Today

by Gemmiel



Series: Feels [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Castiel/Dean - Freeform, Dean is emotionally constipated, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Fluff, Hand Job, M/M, Minor Angst, domestic bunker fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester usually avoids morning-afters like the plague. It's no wonder he screws this one up so badly...</p><p>Sequel to my stories "Feels Like the First Time" and "Feels Like Tonight."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aiming at two chapters long, so it'll probably be three or four *rolls eyes at self*.

He was damn lucky that his little brother was a total idiot.

Dean Winchester stood at the bunker's gas stove, cooking eggs and bacon. When he came downstairs, he’d carefully avoided his brother’s eye, because he and Castiel had finally become intimate last night, and they’d been a little… loud.

He snorted at himself. _A little loud._ Sort of like the way Antarctica was a little cold, or the Atlantic was a little wet, or a hurricane was a little windy.

Fortunately for him, Sam had always been able to sleep through just about anything—a skill you tended to develop when you spent your life sharing a motel room with other guys—and he was clearly oblivious to the fact that anything had happened between Cas and Dean. He was seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and chowing down on a bran muffin with total unconcern.

Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief, because he wasn’t quite ready for Sam to know that he and Cas were… a thing. Whatever a _thing_ was. Part of the problem, he decided, was that he hadn’t quite clarified to himself exactly what was going on between them. Were he and Cas, like, dating? Were they friends with benefits? Was last night just a one-time thing, or were the two of them going to keep screwing like rabbits on Viagra?

The truth was, he hadn’t really meant for this to happen. Well, okay, maybe he’d sort of meant for it to happen. He obviously hadn’t shoved lube in his pocket by accident when he headed for Cas’ room. And when he’d then heard Cas moaning, and figured out what he was up to—

Well, the doorknob had more or less turned of its own accord.

But he'd honestly just intended to help Cas jerk off. To give the former angel a hand (so to speak) in his adjustment to being human. He’d meant it simply as a casual, let-me-share-my-years-of-accumulated-wisdom-with-you kind of thing. And instead…

He remembered thrusting deeply into Cas, remembered his own voice, groaning out, _Castiel, oh God, Cas, I’ve been waiting for this so long, want you, Cas, want you so freakin’ much…_ and something inside him shriveled up and died of embarrassment.

He’d called Cas by his full name—something he never, ever did except in moments of high emotion. And then he’d yammered on about how much he wanted Cas, how he’d wanted him for such a long time... 

Jesus Christ, he might as well have pulled out a diamond ring and proposed on the spot. He’d been that fucking girly.

The thing was, he’d known on some level that he and Cas were, well, attracted to one another. Had been for quite some time, if he was going to be honest about it. And so it wasn’t that surprising that he’d kind of lost control of himself when Cas finally got back to the bunker. He’d been _worried_ about the little guy, after all, worried as hell, and he was incredibly relieved to have Cas around where he could keep an eye on him.

And it was hardly surprising that Cas had been interested in learning more about human sexuality. Who wouldn’t? Sex itself was great, but sex with Dean Winchester was incredible. That was simply a basic fact of life. So of course Cas had been happy to do a little exploration with him. Okay, a lot of exploration. 

But that didn’t mean they were a… _thing._

Dean sighed, because he kept coming back to that. He didn’t know how Cas felt. He didn’t even know if _Cas_ knew. After all, Cas was a brand-new human, all of a week old. How could Cas possibly know if he had real feelings for Dean or not? 

God knew Dean didn’t have a fucking clue how he felt, and he’d been a human a hell of a lot longer than Cas had.

Of course, he was an emotionally repressed, soul-scarred, screwed-up human, so it was hardly surprising he didn’t know how he felt. He’d come close last night to labeling his feelings for Cas with the L-word—but hell, that didn’t mean a damn thing, not really. Everyone thought they were in—in—well, that they felt an emotional connection during really good sex. But what mattered wasn’t how you felt while you were shooting your load, but how you felt the morning after.

Dean never hung around till the next morning to figure it out. But this time he didn't have much of a choice, because last night's sexual partner would be showing up, all rumpled and sexy-eyed and bedhead-y, any minute now.

He sighed, and discovered the bacon was done. Maybe a little past done. He pulled it out of the pan with a fork, laying it on a plate, and spoke gruffly over his shoulder to Sammy.

“Bacon’s ready. Want some?”

“I just had a muffin,” Sam said, following their usual script perfectly. Yeah, the kid hadn’t noticed a damn thing. It was lucky for him that Sammy slept like a log. “I’m trying to avoid a heart attack this week.”

“C'mon, man. I cooked like a whole package. If you don’t eat some, I’m gonna eat it all, and that’s not healthy even for me.”

Sam gave a put-upon sigh, as if asking him to eat bacon was a terrible imposition. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Gimme one piece.”

Dean gave him three—also part of the usual script—and Sam rewarded him with the expected bitchface, then began happily devouring the meat. Dean put scrambled eggs and bacon onto two new plates for him and Cas (he knew he’d worn out Cas last night, but the ex-angel had to wake up eventually), put a third aside for Kevin (who like most teenagers was on a totally different schedule from the normal adult world, and probably wouldn't get to it for hours), and sat down at the table.

“So,” he said, looking at the newspaper. It was weird that Sam insisted on getting an actual _paper_ paper every day. Sam was as technologically literate as they came, and was perfectly capable of getting his news online. But he claimed to prefer reading a physical newspaper. “Anything happen in the world?”

“Not much. I was looking for jobs, but I’m not seeing much locally.”

“Doesn’t have to be local. Baby could use a run.”

“Yeah,” Sam said from behind his newspaper, “but I’m not sure Cas is ready for that.”

“Cas?” Dean blinked. The thought of putting Cas in that kind of danger made his chest hurt. “We can’t take Cas along on a hunt, Sammy. He doesn’t have powers any more. He’d get slaughtered.”

“He’s still deadly with a blade.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he knows how to handle a gun worth shit. And he’s not going on a goddamn hunt until he can shoot as well as we can. We just got him back, Sammy, and if you think I’m gonna let him get ripped apart by the first monster we come across—"

Sam lowered the newspaper an inch, looking at him over the top of it. Dean became aware that his voice had risen, making him sound a bit too much like an overprotective boyfriend. He needed to watch his reactions, or Sam was going to cotton onto the fact that something was going on between him and Cas.

“So what do you think he’ll be doing?" Sam asked. "Research, maybe? He’s going to want to make himself useful somehow.”

“I—I—“ Dean sputtered, because the truth was, he hadn’t thought quite that far ahead. Cas was back, and for now, that was enough. Couldn't Sam let Cas get used to being a human before he put the ex-angel in a situation where he'd get shot at? He took refuge in bristling annoyance. “Why do you think he’s staying here, anyway?”

“He got kicked out of Heaven,” Sam pointed out. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t see why we have to provide shelter for every damn stray that crosses our doorstep,” Dean grumbled. In fact he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting Cas go, especially not now, but he didn’t think Sam needed to know that. The less Sam knew, the better. “Maybe he should just get a regular nine-to-five job like everyone else, find his own apartment, so we don’t have to worry about him screwing up and getting us all killed. I mean, he _is_ a baby in a trenchcoat now, and in a hunt he’s just gonna be in the way. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend my life changing his diapers…”

There was a small sound behind him. He turned and saw Cas staring at him with huge blue eyes. He didn’t have to ask if Cas had heard him. The word BETRAYAL might as well have been blinking over Cas' head in large neon letters. 

“Cas,” he said, feeling like the world’s biggest heel. He’d been trying to downplay Cas’ importance to him for Sammy’s benefit, but he sure as hell hadn’t wanted Cas to hear any of that, because it wasn’t true. Whether he and Cas were a _thing_ or not, he wasn’t letting Cas leave the bunker. Not now. Not ever. "Listen, Cas, I..."

Cas stared at him a moment longer, then turned and fled.

“Cas!” Dean stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. _"Cas!"_

He went after the former angel, and as he charged out of the room, he heard his brother’s voice behind him.

“Oh, God, not again,” Sam groaned, and Dean could have sworn he heard a rhythmic thudding sound, like Sam was whacking his forehead against the table. “Goddamnit, you two. I'm just gonna get a fucking motel room.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miracle of miracles, I finished up in two chapters. Imagine that! 
> 
> Possible TW for attempted physical violence if you are VERY sensitive to that sort of thing.

“Oh my _God.”_ Kevin grabbed his plate off the counter and sat down at the table. There were big bags under his eyes, as if he’d hardly slept. Sam knew how he felt. “Last night, Sam. Geez. Did you hear—"

Sam sighed. “Oh, yeah, I heard it. I tried not to, but...”

“And then a little later—"

“Kevin. Dude. I don’t want to _think_ about it, let alone talk about it.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Kevin ate a forkful of eggs, looking thoughtful, and then said, “So now, do you figure they…”

“If they’re not screwing yet,” Sam said grimly, “they will be. I give them five minutes.”

“But Cas looked really upset when he ran by me just now.”

“Exactly. Which means Dean’s gonna have to apologize. A lot. And…oh, _God._ I have got to get some earplugs. I'm happy for them and all, but...” He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I bet angry sex is even noisier than happy sex.”

*****

Dean raced around the corner of a narrow hallway that led to numerous storage rooms, following the sound of Cas’ footsteps.

And almost ran into a fist.

His finely honed hunter reflexes saved him from a black eye. He ducked, and lunged at Cas, but Cas dodged away. Last night, he and Cas had wrestled together, throwing each other into walls in play. But Cas was clearly not playing this time. Somewhere along his frantic run through the bunker, he’d lost his look of wide-eyed betrayal, and now he just looked pissed as hell.

Dean couldn’t blame him, not really. He hadn’t meant any of that crap he’d spouted to Sam, but he couldn’t deny that he was, well, confused. Last night everything had seemed very clear and very simple, but today things felt different. More complicated. He wasn't used to coping with morning afters, damn it.

"Cas!" he yelled, ducking another blow. Cas in a rage was no one to fuck around with. He'd been a warrior for millennia, and it showed. "You're not an angel any more, and humans aren't allowed to smite each other, damn it!"

"Humans smite each other all the time!"

"Yeah, well, they're not supposed to. Cut it out, will ya? I just want to talk..."

“You _told_ me to come to the bunker, damn it!” Cas yelled, throwing another punch. Fortunately fury didn’t improve his aim, and Dean was able to dodge this one, too. He slammed a shoulder into Cas’ chest and used his superior weight to shove him against the wall, then grabbed Cas’ flailing arms and pinned those too.

“Cas—" he began, but Castiel wasn’t finished.

“I wouldn’t have come here if you hadn’t told me to!” he shouted, his eyes dark with an almost angelic rage. “And last night—what the _hell_ was that, Dean? If you didn’t want me here, if I'm just an imposition, then why the fuck did you—"

Dean slammed his mouth onto Cas’ before the ex-angel could broadcast the fact that they’d had sex to the whole household. Cas wrenched his arms loose, and Dean wondered if Cas was about to try to beat the shit out of him again. But Cas only lifted his hands, digging them deep into Dean’s hair, and kissed him back.

The kiss was hot and open-mouthed and frantic. No finesse, just a lot of desperate tongue-fucking—straightforward, blunt, dirty. One of these days, Dean thought blurrily, he was going to have to teach Cas how to kiss slowly, gently, how to start out with little chaste pecks and build from there. But this was obviously not that day, because this kiss was just about as filthy as screwing against the wall.

“Shit,” Dean moaned into his mouth. After last night, he ought to be totally worn out, but he could feel his dick twitching to life already. “ _Shit,_ Cas.”

Cas reached down and grabbed him. Just like that. No slow slide of his hands over Dean’s body, no shy caresses across Dean’s chest or back, no gentle tease of thumbs taunting Dean’s nipples, no tickling. He just reached down and grabbed Dean’s cock through his jeans, and squeezed none too gently. Dean grunted into his mouth, and his cock swelled, throbbing with need.

Cas stroked him hard and fast, almost brutally. Dean was so sensitive from last night’s efforts that being jacked that way ought to hurt, but instead it felt impossibly good. He thrust eagerly against Cas’ palm, sobbing into his mouth. Despite the fact that they'd wound up in a little-used hallway, they weren’t too far from the kitchen, and he knew he ought to keep it quiet, but damn it… damn it… _Cas…_

Considering Cas hadn’t had a clue how to jerk himself off last night, the former angel had learned a lot. He moved his hand over the denim in long, relentless strokes, until Dean was whimpering helplessly. Then Cas unfastened Dean's jeans with fast, efficient movements, shoved his boxers out of the way, and took his hard, aching cock right into his hand.

Dean uttered a low, resonant groan. They were still kissing frantically, wet and open-mouthed and teeth clashing together every so often, like they hadn’t been together in months. His cock was wet too, dripping with precome already. Cas used that to moisten his hand, and began jacking him so fiercely that Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Cas yanked his mouth away and went for Dean’s neck, kissing, sucking and biting so roughly it smarted. Dean realized vaguely that Cas was deliberately marking him by leaving hickeys—and exactly where had he learned about hickeys?—but he was too lost in pleasure to care. He heard himself moaning, _oh God Cas yeah just like that, oh fuck that feels good, yes yes **yes** …_ and he knew he wasn’t supposed to be making so much noise, but he couldn’t quite remember why.

“Tell me you want me to leave,” Cas snarled against his neck, nipping at him between words. “Go ahead, Dean. Tell me now.”

“No.” Dean clutched at him, desperate, _needy._ “Don’t leave, Cas, don’t leave, don’t ever leave me…”

Cas made a little sound of satisfaction against his throat, biting down harder, and moved his hand so fast that Dean couldn’t hold back. Not that he wanted to. He came in a wild rush, not caring that his come spattered all over Cas and the wall, not aware that he was roaring out Cas’ name. He didn’t care about a damn thing except Cas’ touch and the feel of his mouth and the warm scent of his skin. He couldn't hear a damn thing except the feverish rush of his own blood in his veins, thundering in his ears as he writhed, lost in ecstasy, drowning in sensation.

Cas used his own technique against him, stroking him relentlessly, drawing the last spasms of pleasure from him, the last few dribbles of come, only letting go when Dean collapsed against him, burying his face in Cas’ shoulder and breathing heavily.

“So," Cas purred into his ear with a snarky sexiness that he wouldn't have been capable of as an angel. "Do you still think I'm _in the way,_ Dean?” 

Dean struggled to get his brain back online, because despite what Cas had just done to him, he was obviously still pissed as hell. And he deserved to be. “I’m sorry, all right?” he said at last, in a low voice. “I’m really sorry, Cas. I was an asshole. Those things I said to Sam—I didn’t mean ‘em. Not a single one. I just… I just didn’t want him to know we were, you know, together.”

Cas was silent for a moment, considering that, and then gave a wry chuckle. 

“Are you really that stupid?” 

Despite the happy post-orgasmic lassitude that had melted all his muscles, Dean lifted his head, bristling. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you didn’t want Sam to _know?_ Really, Dean, don’t you think he figured it out last night?”

“He didn’t hear anything,” Dean said. “I mean, yeah, obviously he probably heard us just now. I was..." _Yelling at the top of my lungs._ "A little loud, maybe. But last night? Nah. The kid can sleep through an earthquake.”

“How about all the clothes we left in the hall? You think he somehow missed them?”

Dean blinked. He’d been so wiped out this morning that he’d stumbled more or less blindly from his bedroom to the kitchen, but now that he thought about it, he remembered that they’d left a long trail of scattered clothing behind them. The dumbest person in the world couldn’t have failed to figure out the implications—and Sam wasn’t dumb.

“Shit,” he said, very softly but very sincerely.

Cas narrowed his eyes. “If you’re that ashamed of being with me,” he said in his iciest tones—and having been an angel of the Lord, he could be pretty damn icy—“then perhaps I should consider leaving the bunker anyway.”

“ _No._ ” Dean leaned into him harder, pressing him against the wall. “No, Cas. I’m not… I’m not ashamed, all right? I just… I don’t know, I’m not used to anything permanent. Anything _real._ And I just kind of wanted to keep this to ourselves for a while. Whatever _this_ is.”

Cas frowned, looking confused. “This? You mean the fact that we had sex?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean sighed. “Look, Cas, I told you last night that it wasn’t just sex. We both said that, remember? We said it wasn’t going to be a one-night thing.”

“I assumed that had been a 'little white lie' on your part,” Cas retorted, making irritated air quotes with one hand. “It was difficult to take your assurances seriously once you informed your brother that I should leave and obtain my own apartment.”

“Look, that was a really dumb thing to say, all right? I'm just not used to... well, you said it yourself. Most of my relationships have been 'one-night things,' and you and me—it's different, Cas. You're different. But I wasn't quite ready to share it with anyone else yet, even Sammy." He sighed. "I guess you’re right. I’m stupid.”

Cas looked at him a moment longer. At last one corner of his mouth tipped up, very slightly.

“When it comes to emotions, you certainly are,” he agreed. 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. “Look, Cas… I want you here. I do. Okay?”

Cas cocked his head, considering that. “Because you enjoy having sex with me?”

“No, dumbass. Because I—I—“ Dean stammered to a halt. “Because—oh, fuck it. Because you _matter_ to me, Castiel.”

Cas looked at him a moment, then huffed softly, whether in amusement or annoyance Dean couldn’t quite tell. “And you matter to me as well, Dean.”

Relief flooded Dean. He might be stupid, but he hadn't fucked the situation up beyond repair. Things were gonna be okay. Smiling, he leaned into Cas and kissed him, more gently this time, letting his kiss say everything he couldn't yet manage to utter.

This time, he promised himself, they'd be quiet.

They weren't.

*****

When the two of them staggered back into the kitchen a half hour later, having changed into clean clothes and brushed their rumpled hair, the room was empty. Dean called for Sam, but there was no answer.

"Check your phone," Cas suggested.

Dean found his phone, which he'd abandoned on the counter, and checked it. There was a terse text message:

_Kevin and I are taking off for a week. There's an old Studebaker in the garage I've been wanting to try out. You guys do us all a favor and get it out of your system. Be as loud as you want._

Dean relayed the message to Cas, grinning, and the two of them headed out to the living area and settled onto the couch, ostensibly to watch _Dr. Sexy,_ but mostly to make out. Today, Dean thought happily as he cuddled with Cas, was going to be a _great_ day.

And today felt like just the beginning.


End file.
